Green
by Phantom Creedy Lover
Summary: When Reaver first returns from his journey, he comes back to find that Sparrow isn't quite the golden child he left behind. He sees how he could use that to his own advantage, but she sees a similar outcome with putting up with him.


**Alright, so after getting fed up with a bunch of the latest Reaver/Sparrow fics that do absolutely no justice to Reaver, and the slight prodding by a couple of people on Tumblr, I figured I'd give my own shot at a R/S fic. And so here it is, where Sparrow isn't quite a golden child, Reaver is well, Reaver, and both see how they could benefit from working as a team once again, and this was born.**

* * *

Reaver had never been so happy to be back in Bloodstone. It had been a long, harrowing journey, despite all the fun travelling and murders. But now, he was back and he could do all the damage he wanted. The glorious town was his again. The buildings were bright, the people were laughing and smiling, the vendors were busy with customers, a statue of a woman flourishing a sword looked out on the sea… he stopped in his tracks.

The buildings were _bright and freshly painted_.

The thugs, whores and commonfolk looked _happy_.

The shops were_ thriving_.

The statue didn't bear _his_ likeness.

Something was terribly, _terribly_ wrong, and that would _just not do_.

He drew his Dragonstomper and pointed it at the nearest villager. "You there! What has become of this place? Who is in charge?"

The villager gaped at him for a while, then finally sputtered out an answer. "That'd b-b-be Lio-Lionheart, Mister Reaver! Moved in a whiles after you left an' took to fixin' things up!" he replied.

"Thank-_you_!" Reaver replied before promptly shooting the man right through the heart.

_Kill the messenger,_ that's what he always said; _it sent a message_. And it was far better to be feared then loved anyway. Whoever said it was the other way around was drunk or selling something. So this Lionheart had not only taken his town, but his mansion as well. He hoped the booby traps he had set had done their jobs for the poor fellow. But now, it had been a day since he had killed before the last two poor souls just now. The Dragonstomper was just getting re-warmed up, why stop now? He had a city to reclaim.

And so he started his trek up to the Mansion, glaring at any passerby who bothered to smile at him. They were not supposed to be happy in his town. Satisfied, at most, but not happy. He would've shot them all down had he not desired to hold onto his ammunition for the sake of firing it into Lionheart and in turn his corpse.

He made it, growling even more when he saw there was some fancy to-do going on. People were in their finest, laughing away in the courtyard and foyer, as it seemed. He shoved his way through the crowd, and when he made it into the foyer he risked firing off a shot straight up into the air, sending a chunk of ceiling falling onto the poor sod beside him. "My good people, my darling ladies and lowlives, I have been informed this place has an imposter! And as your lord, I insist that you tell me where this lovely fellow is if you plan on living any time during the next hour!" he announced. The crowd merely stared, talking amongst themselves quietly. Reaver was about to risk firing off another shot, when a single voice broke out above the was his own.

He turned towards the sound, only to see a piece of parchment that the voice seemed to be coming from floating down from above. He realized after a moment it was one of his journal entries that he had left for the bastard who had the nerve to move in on his territory. And then it hit him. _Oh, how clever_. He knew what that was supposed to be. He had used that kind of distraction time and time again, but this… this was new. But he knew what that meant. And so he turned sharply, pointing the Dragonstomper in the exact opposite direction the paper had fallen from. Without looking away from the paper, he sighed dramatically. "Now Lad, Lionheart, whatever your name is. You must be knew to all this, to me. Let me make myself clear when I say I'm not one to take kindly to people who steal my things when I'm away-"

"Oh, believe me Reaver, I do."

Reaver froze for a moment. Now he knew that voice, too. He sneered and turned. "Well well, Sparrow! I should've known! Really!" His grin only grew when he found that, as expected, the Dragonstomper was pointed right between her eyes. "Isn't _this_ a familiar situation?"

"Mostly, but there's a little something added this time around," Sparrow replied with a shrug.

Reaver's grin faltered for a moment until he felt metal at his chin and looked down to find she had her own gun pointed right below his chin, just out of direct eyesight. _Clever girl_. "You've learned,"

"You haven't," Sparrow countered.

Reaver smirked and raised his gun again, this time only in order to make a dramatic flourish out of putting it back in its holster. "Really, my dear. We must catch up. It's been too long,"

Sparrow matched his smirk, then shrugged dramatically herself before turning to the bigger part of the crowd. "Party's over, ladies and gents. See you tomorrow."

The partygoers mumbled protests, but eventually started clearing out. They knew now that their former 'master' was back and apparently chipper with their latest hero, there would be Hell to pay if they disobeyed.

Reaver waited for the last few guests to leave before speaking again. "So, you go by Lionheart, now? Been on many brave adventures in my absence, I assume?"

"Someone's got to try and save the world without killing off all its population for fun in the process," Sparrow replied. "So, how were your adventures? Make any new enemies? Throw any more people to the Shadow Court?"

"Of course. Shame you couldn't accompany me, you woud've made my arm all the prettier," he replied, leaning against the wardrobe in the office as she made her way over. He took a chance to look her over when her back was turned. She was still Sparrow, young, barely a grey hair on that lovely head, but there were plenty of scars lining her back, arms and visible cheek. Balverines' doings, by the look of some of the lines. It was a tragedy, with a face that may have been about fifth to his, on a good day. The months had clearly not been kind physically where they had been economically. "I do hope you're not expecting to keep my property now that I've returned."

"Oh, I don't know. I personally like the place too much. You might be able to make it last in a guest room…. or I can sell you The Hook, if you see fit."

"Being that it was all mine don't see the point in buying it back. You were just the caretaker, Darling." He advanced on her, only to find the heel of a boot at his chest. And then he finally got a look at the clothing- the boots and pants in particular. He quite appreciated the little top that hardly left anything to the imagination up above. But those were definitely boots made for one regal crowd. He wasn't sure about the pants but they were well put together. And then he remembered just who this Sparrow-Turned-Lionheart was. The hero of Bowerstone, of Albion, of All. Destined for greatness that at one point he would have been happy to ride the coattails of. "So tell me, little Chickadee, are you royalty yet? Do you have them feeding out of your hands?"

Sparrow shrugged. "Not yet, but Teresa-"

"Ah yes, the foul witch. How is she?"

"Fine, the last I checked. How's Garth?" Sparrow countered.

Reaver smirked. "Not as great," he replied, then sneered once again when the old Sparrow, the one that would have worried so much about her friends being hurt, flashed in front of him when she looked worried for a moment.

"What did you do to him?" she demanded

"Nothing that a being like that couldn't handle with a fair bit of difficulty," Reaver replied. "So, your Future Highness, what brings your regal hide to the sewer of Albion, hm? What has you buying my city out from under me? Your base for your kingdom? Starting off low, working your up?"

"Lands, cleaning up the mess that you left," Sparrow shrugged.

"So you still haven't changed as far as looking out for the innocents- even ones who don't deserve our care," Reaver mused. "You still enjoy being a bratty little _angel._ I should've known,"

"I enjoy _money_, Reaver. And your pretty little town was just about the easiest way to get it. If the townspeople are happier with me running the show, so be it," Sparrow replied.

Reaver wanted to grin. So he was wrong- partially. It was greed that had corrupted the little innocent he had tried to take under his wing that while ago. Oh, this was sweet. And poetic. And glorious…. for _him_. Oh, he could see the plan forming in his head now. He shifted so her thigh was no longer blocking his chest and lay parallel with his hip. "Well then, I have a little proposition for you, Dove. You want money, I want my town, we have the power… what do you say to a little arrangement, hm? For old times' sake? Hero to Hero?" for a moment, he thought she would laugh him off like she always did. Yell at him. Finally snap after giving as good as she got like she had when they traveled together. It would've proven him wrong again. But then he saw the cogs turning. Hook, line, sinker. He had just conned royalty. Not so clever after all. She looked interested.

Oh, this would be so much _fun_.


End file.
